


Twenty-Two Minutes

by nomelon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Blow Jobs, Brothers, Closet Sex, Established Relationship, Hot, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean stuck in a supply closet for two hours. However will they pass the time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Two Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the lovely and delightful jendavis for her nifty work with a highlighter.
> 
> Dedication: written for little_missmimi who donated for this fic on help_haiti, and asked for _Sam/Dean, stifling_. This is what I came up with. I hope you like it. Thank you ever so much for buying me.

Dean pulled at the neck of his sweat-damp t-shirt, separating it from his skin and flapping it a little. He sighed heavily when it did precisely nothing to cool him down.

"Dude, how much longer?"

"Four minutes less than last time you asked."

Distressed, Dean rolled his head against the wall. "You know I don't do well in enclosed spaces."

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked up from where he was sitting on the floor. "You're not claustrophobic. You've never been claustrophobic. So don't even try it."

Sam's face was shining in the dim light from the one bare bulb over their heads, and his hair was damp and curling over his forehead and the back of his neck, but he wore it without complaint, making it look like a day at the beach. Sam had always been sweatier than the average guy, but Dean thought that the very least he could do was have the decency look put out by it.

"I never said I was claustrophobic." Dean scowled and looked up at the four walls of the supply closet again like something was likely to have changed in the last four minutes. The walls still looked the same. The shelves, stacked high with paper towels and toilet paper, still looked pretty much the same. The mop and bucket in the corner, ditto. He sighed. "I'm just really freaking bored."

Sam folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, looking irritatingly Zen. "Then you should have brought something to read."

"I don't want to read. It's fucking _hot_ in here, man."

"Will you quit whining like a baby? They generally don't put air-con in closets. Besides, this was your plan in the first place, dumbass."

"And it's a really good plan. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Sam smirked. "You've got another two hours before the guards' shift change. There's not a damn thing we can do until then, so you're just going to have to deal."

Dean deepened his scowl. "But I'm bored."

"Window of opportunity, dude. I'd rather time it right so we can walk right out the backdoor than take on a dozen security guards. So we wait."

"But I'm _bored_."

Sam grinned without bothering to open his eyes. "Why don't you just try revelling in your evil genius and relax?"

Dean sighed and glanced at the duffel bag tucked under Sam's knee. It was pretty good to know that it contained the answer to all their problems. Hopefully, that was. Potentially. If their sources were right and Castiel's typically cagey input hadn't just been the latest in a long line of angelic bullshit and misdirection. He pressed his lips together and nodded gravely. "I am pretty good," he admitted.

"You're the best. You're better than the best. Now will you please stop stepping all over me and sit the hell down?"

Dean leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his legs at the ankle, looking down at his brother. "Are you flattering me?"

Sam tilted his head up and opened one eye. "Would it get you to sit down and shut up if I was?"

"I'm too hot to sit down and shut up. We should have brought water. And ice. Big bags of ice."

"Yeah, because all those pesky tools and disguises and weapons were just excess baggage."

"Totally," Dean said. He slid down the wall to perch on the balls of his feet, his hands dangling between his knees.

Sam smirked and spread his legs out in front of him. Dean had to inch back out of the way and even then there was only just enough floor space to accommodate him. Sam had the uncanny ability to make buildings look like dollhouses around him, like whoever had decided on the dimensions and made the furniture was just having a joke at his expense. Only last week they'd had to interview an octogenarian grandmother of nineteen, a tiny slip of a woman who'd insisted on giving them afternoon tea as she answered their questions about the alleged witch who'd once lived across the street. Dean was never a man to turn down free cake, but the image of Sam with a tiny bone china cup and saucer cradled awkwardly in his big hands was not something he was going to forget in a hurry.

Dean lost a couple of minutes deep in thought, staring at the long muscles of Sam's thighs, which were clearly visible through the thin material of the security guard uniforms they were both wearing. At least, they had been wearing them. Their shirts and jackets had been quickly discarded after about two minutes in the closet. When Dean finally dragged his gaze higher and caught Sam watching him, Sam was looking rather amused.

"See something you like?"

"Oh, bite me."

"Could help pass the time," Sam said, casually tossing the idea out there. He reached out and grabbed Dean's arm, yanking so that Dean ended up on his knees, straddling Sam's thighs. Sam just kept on smiling as Dean huffed in annoyance.

"This isn't date night, Sam."

Sam's hands were on Dean's hips, smoothing and petting, his thumbs straying close to Dean's treacherous dick, which was sitting up and taking notice. "Since when do we have date nights?"

"We don't," Dean said quickly. "We never have had and we never will have."

Sam's smile hitched up a couple of notches as realisation struck, going from lazy and teasing to surprised and a little besotted. "Is that why you've been taking me to the movies recently? And that steakhouse you took me to?"

Dean shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and tried to wriggle away, but Sam held him in place. "Dude, shut up. No. I just wanted a steak. And, come on, they were showing Smokey and the Bandit." Sam brushed the soft skin just above Dean's waistband and Dean grabbed at his wrists. "Stop it, Sam. Geddoff. Seriously."

Sam's grin lit up his whole face. "You're such a romantic."

Dean pulled a face. "Like hell. I totally hate you. I wouldn't be romantic with you if you were the last guy on earth."

Sam nosed at his jaw. "You totally would," he said, his voice gone low and intimate and purposefully designed to get under Dean's skin. It was even more infuriating because of the shit eating grin he was still wearing. "You love me. You like to take me pretty places and buy me pretty things."

Dean lifted his chin to given Sam better access even as he fought to keep Sam's hands off his skin. "I like to make out with you in the backseat at the drive in -- which are pretty fucking hard to find these days and I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to go to one when we see it -- and I also like to take you out and get you liquored up without you noticing so you don't run away with your skirts over your head when I do that thing to you."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What thing?"

It was Dean's turn to smile, and he kept it knowing and seductive. "You know what thing. That thing. That nasty, dirty little thing. That one that you say you hate, when really you can't get enough of it."

Sam had the good grace to blush red as a tomato, but with a quick and easy twist of his wrists, he'd reversed their hold and had both Dean's wrists held in one hand behind his back. He also spread his thighs wider so Dean was off balance and tipped forward into Sam's space.

Dean, of course, had totally let him get away with all of it.

"I like _everything_ you do to me," Sam murmured, close enough that Dean could feel the heat of the words against his skin.

Dean darted his tongue over his lips. "Is that a fact?"

A drop of sweat trickled down behind his ear, over the slope of his collarbone and disappeared into the stretched out collar of his t-shirt. Sam nodded, watching its progress with interest. He raised his knees so Dean was pushed even further forward, sitting snug against Sam's hips, his chest pushed up against Sam's with only warm, damp cotton to separate them.

Sam was hard under his ass, so Dean ground down a little, just to watch his reaction.

"I didn't think you were into fooling around on the clock, Sam."

"We're not on the clock for another two hours," Sam said with soundless little gasp. He pressed the softest of kisses to the corner of Dean's mouth. It made Dean's gums tingle. "I got nothing but time."

"You know it's too hot for this shit," Dean said, staring at Sam's mouth.

"Are you turning down a perfectly decent offer of sex because it's a little warm in here?" Sam asked, nudging up with his hips just to make his point.

"Hell, no. Just don't expect me to do all the work."

"Heaven forbid," Sam said, but he managed to twist it into that low, serious voice Dean had told him never to use. The one that made the stupidest things sound perfectly reasonable and hot like fire, and also had the unwanted side-effect of turning Dean's bones to warm jello. Sam kissed him again, deeper this time, tasting faintly of cinnamon chewing gum and coffee. It was nothing but Sam's way of distracting him, Dean got that, and while it was a damn good one, it was one he was only prepared to put up with because Sam was busy undoing his belt and giving Dean Junior a little much needed breathing room.

"We're really doing this," Dean said, too busy kissing back to even try and get his hands free.

"We really are," Sam confirmed, and moved without warning, lifting Dean and flipping him in one easy move -- goddamn Sam and the massively irritating way that he totally had Dean in the muscle department these days -- so that Dean was on his back on the floor, with Sam between his thighs, Sam's solid weight pinning him down and no room to manoeuvre. Sam pressed down with his hips, and pushed a soft, embarrassing sound of want out of Dean.

"You think you can be quiet?" Sam asked, his lips brushing the shell of Dean's ear, making him shiver. "You know you're a screamer."

Dean flushed red and drew back as far as he could to give Sam the full benefit of his indignation. "I will choke you to death with your own hair. I just want you to know that."

Sam grinned and pulled back just enough to get a hand between their bodies, going right for Dean's fly and working it open. "Baby, I just love it when you talk dirty."

Dean groaned, and only partly because Sam's hand was warm and his grip was tight. "Please stop talking now."

Sam grinned, quick and filthy, and disappeared from sight, working his way down Dean's body, pushing his t-shirt up and out of the way so he could lick and bite.

Dean remembered a time when Sam had been terrified of this. A time when he thought it was just one more thing wrong within him; that he was tainting Dean with his touch, with his love, and with his want. Dean remembered struggling against it, holding out for so long that the wrong of it was forever tangled up with desire that rocked him to his foundations and love like he'd never known.

Discovering the fact that Sam gave _amazing_ head had certainly helped to ease the rocky transition period.

Sam's mouth was perfect for this, and he knew just how to touch Dean, how to hold him down and make him gasp and shudder, bucking up against Sam's strong hands, helpless to do much else but lie there and take it. Dean always had to take breaks when he was the one in the driving seat, letting his hands do the work when his jaw got too sore, or moving things on to the main event, but Sam never seemed to get tired of sucking cock. As far as Dean was concerned, this would always, always be a huge point in his favour.

Sam worked him hard and fast, sending Dean hurtling over the edge and helplessly catching the abused collar of his t-shirt between his teeth, biting down hard on it to stop from crying out as Sam swallowed and swallowed. Sam sat up on his knees between Dean's spread thighs looking pink and shiny and pleased with himself as he licked his lips obscenely.

Dean gasped, blinking up at the ceiling. He felt boneless and hot as hell, like he might just lie there and melt clean away into the floor. The ceiling looked like it was miles away; the room no longer so oppressive.

"How much longer?" he asked, licking his dry and bitten lips and wondering if Sam would let him sneak out to that drinking fountain they'd passed two hallways back. He could totally make it there and back in two minutes. No way that could possibly mess up their plans.

Sam glanced at his watch and smiled. "Twenty-two minutes less than the last time you asked."

"Oh," Dean said.

He figured Sam probably wasn't going to let him make a run to the drinking fountain.

Damn it.

He lay there quietly for a moment, thinking about tall, clear glasses of iced water, diving headfirst into a cool lake, and standing in front of an open refrigerator with an ice cold beer in his hand while nubile, scantily clad women wafted him with fans.

Then he thought about the awesome blowjob Sam had just given him and the way that Sam was still obviously hard, and he thought about that nasty, dirty little thing that Sam _said_ he hated but secretly couldn't get enough of.

He thought about that one for a while.

Two hours minus twenty-two minutes was still a long time to wait.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean got up on his elbows. "You want to go again?"

**Author's Note:**

> [http://nomelon.livejournal.com/169233.html](http://nomelon.livejournal.com/169233.html?mode=reply)


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